


I My Loving Vigil Keeping

by hopeless_eccentric



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), also i think i just wrote a character study about a tree, brief mention of concussions, hatchling fic?, i did a lot of research for this and by that i mean i looked at pictures of baby lizards and cried, it's cute i promise, kind of a kidfic?, lizardling fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: This creature, brought forth from the impossible and destined to live an impossible life would be many things to the Keep. He would be its guardian and researcher, as so many of the Keep’s creations had been. However, as magic had a tendency to be inconsistent, the Keep could only hope that this time, its creation might be a friend.
Relationships: Lord Arum & The Keep (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	I My Loving Vigil Keeping

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Just as a disclaimer, I am not the first to feature this particular itty bitty lizard in my work, as I've seen it discussed on tumblr before, so make sure to check out the art by @partstars and @peepeethepissking on tumblr!! 
> 
> Title is from All Through the Night, a Welsh folk song

The Keep decided, in whatever wordless way an entity whose flesh and sinew is tree and vine can, to create a life. 

This creature, brought forth from the impossible and destined to live an impossible life would be many things to the Keep. He would be its guardian and researcher, as so many of the Keep’s creations had been. However, as magic had a tendency to be inconsistent, the Keep could only hope that this time, its creation might be a friend. 

The only time the Keep did not trust its own vines was when carrying the Egg between patches of sun that dappled the earthen floor. The Keep knew well the vines would not break, for the Egg was small and light and sturdy as a stone. However, its growing caution brought with it a growing self doubt, so to better ferry the Egg around, it grew and severed webs of branches into what a monster might call a nest or what a human might call a crib. 

While the Keep bloomed and flourished in all weather, the Egg seemed to have a certain dislike for rain. There was no physical sign of it, no murmur, shift, or shudder. 

The Keep wove the branches above the Egg’s nest a little tighter nonetheless. When that didn’t seem to settle him, the Keep hummed a soft tune it had learned off of a travelling bard decades and decades ago. 

The racing pulse of the being within the Egg slowed as if a bated breath had been released. The Keep did not sleep that night, singing louder when the thunder growled in the sky above and doing all it could to ward away the fears of the tiny creature within the Egg. When lightning threatened to tear the sky in two, a jolt of fear from the Egg shook the Keep, only settling back down into a shaky murmur when the storm ebbed. 

The Keep only sang louder, holding its vigil all through the night. 

After that night, the Keep pulled its branches in close when clouds swirled and darkened in the sky. Though it often preferred to unfurl its branches and reach for the rain above, the fear that shuddered from the Egg was persuasion enough to weave and furl over the earthen floor below, warding off the noise with its song, the rain with its branches, and the dark with the shimmering dance of glowing plants and insects. 

The Egg seemed to get used to storms as well, and as it grew closer to hatching, the Keep loosened its grip against the rain. Daytime storms were not so bad, not with the Keep’s soft humming and the gray light from above illuminating the Keep like a cathedral. 

The Keep had watched generations of Eggs hatch, yet never before had such restraint been required to refrain from prying the shell apart with its own vines. The Egg shuddered and creaked with effort as the tiny creature the Keep had so painstakingly created and cared for fought to bring himself into the world. 

It could feel the creature’s panic like the wings of a bird flapping against the bars of a too-small cage, pulsing and beating and threatening to shake the Keep itself. More importantly, it could feel the coil of determination within the little being’s chest burning red-hot as the shell, for the first time, cracked. 

Finally allowing itself to move, the Keep went to work gathering soft leaves, speed and desperation injected into every whip and curl of its vines as the drumbeat of fear, persistence, and the crack of a shell cut through the air. 

When the shell of the Egg split and fell apart, the creature within fell face first into a bed of leaves, flower petals flying up in a cloud around him. He tried to stand on shaky legs, first six, then four, then two, but found he had already had a very long day, and would much rather take a nap in the soft bed of leaves he had so recently discovered. The hatchling flopped down into his bed, so small that the plants below him barely budged at the added weight. The Keep sang its adoration, and the little lizard raised his head to search for the sound. 

His little head turned from side to side, violet eyes flitting between trees and leaves and patches of dappled light in search of the voice that had called to him. The Keep sang again, as if to say I am everywhere, and therefore, no harm will come to you from anywhere. The creature let out a chirp of its own, as if he were a songbird imitating its mother’s call. 

The Keep wove a few vines tighter around the nest of leaves and branches it had made for its future guardian, looking so small and fragile as he curled into a ball and slept in the remains of his Egg. As he slept, the Keep sang and tilted its branches just so a sunspot would rest upon this tiny protector it had created. 

There were shades of a fearsome warrior in the way the hatchling clung to rocks with needle-like talons that were still learning how to grip. His roar was a chirping squeak and his hiss barely audible. More often than not, it was reduced to a tiny huff when he curled into a ball or collapsed face-first onto a warm rock. 

The Keep saw shades of something else in the way those clever violet eyes stared at the flowers it danced above his nest. He clawed at the small flowers he mistook for bugs, even eating a few. He would always shake his head and spit them out the moment they touched his tongue, though it would take months for him to learn not to eat the flowers at all. The Keep once had to whip a bee out of the air to keep the hatchling from learning a brutal lesson about pain far too early in life. 

As for the larger flowers, he gazed at them in awe, giant eyes seeming to memorize every sloping petal and leaf and stem. When a day of closely monitored stumbling was brought to a close, the hatchling would stretch out in his sunset stained nest and watch as the Keep grew his favorite flowers down towards him. 

The hatchling would often reach for a calla lily, claws showing the first shadows of tenderness as they ran along the swirling petals. His second pair of arms would grasp at the stems and pull them closer, tail flicking in admiration of the lovely plant. 

The Keep took to growing the flowers closer to his nest after that, and decided, in whatever way it could, that the hatchling would be called Arum by any who wish to refer to him by name. 

As Arum grew, however, the Keep found caution was becoming increasingly difficult. The hatchling, now around the size of a house cat, would chase sunspots as they danced and go tumbling after plants that swayed in the breeze. Light and movement drew his eye almost as much as the lilies now growing from the Keep’s every corner.

When he was feeling particularly brave, Arum would chase after a moving vine, and on occasion, catch it between his claws. The Keep would pretend to shake him, vine rising a few feet in the air as the weeks-old creature hissed in delight. After a few minutes of these games, the Keep would plop him back down and give him a pat on the head for good measure. The hatchling would then bite at the vine again, and then the chasing and wrestling and joyous singing of the Keep would begin once again. 

On one occasion, he leapt after a vine and missed, head colliding with his favorite sunny boulder with a resounding crack. In its panic, the Keep accidentally shriveled a lily mere feet from Arum’s bleeding forehead. 

The Keep could feel the hatchling’s pain in waves as it used the vine he had been chasing mere moments ago to carry him back into his nest and do what it could to wrap his head. The pain alone was enough for the Keep’s leaves to shudder as they wove together to close out light. 

What made the Keep feel ill was the newness of the pain. No sensation like this one had ever made its home in the little creature, who was now curled into a ball beneath the Keep’s canopy. Worst of all, the hatchling had no prior experience that suggested a pain like this would ever pass. 

The Keep sang all night, a low chorus that did little to soothe the hatchling’s ailing. When the following morning saw Arum only stretch and stumble about, it moved a little stream to flow by him so he needn’t move for water or something cool against his head. That seemed to help some small amount, though the Keep would not rest until the injury had passed. 

The hatchling’s sleep was fitful, recoiling against music when the Keep sang too loud. Instead, the Keep would open its branches from above, letting starlight and a cool spring breeze lull Arum to sleep in the music’s stead. When those alone would not work, it grew the arum lilies a little taller, unable to help a soft chord when the hatchling, half asleep, pulled a fistful of the flowers to his chest, rising and falling with the pull of slumber. 

When Arum’s violet eyes blinked against the sun without pain once more, the Keep shuddered with relief. A vine descended to his nest with trepidation, poking his scaly head once or twice to gauge more specific results than could be gleaned from their link. 

Arum let out a squeaky hiss and grabbed for the vine, which wrapped around the hatchling in the closest thing to a hug that the Keep could manage. 

The Keep’s tiny protector had issues greater than bumps on the head and playing too rough, however. A goose had made its home in the nearby swamp, occasionally coming by the Keep’s cool streams and lake to feed and clean its feathers. 

Arum did not like the goose at all. 

Arum did, however, like the lake, where he would wander for hours, staring at fish and reeds and splashing in panic if he felt something slimy touch his foot. As such, he spent what felt like hours pacing back and forth a few yards away from the lake, making a tiny ticking noise to himself as he waited for the goose’s departure. The goose, however, felt no need to leave, and the tiny hatchling would often fall asleep on whatever rock he had decided to rest on for just a few minutes. 

The Keep would always push a branch or two aside so he could sleep in the sun. 

Once or twice, Arum was struck by a bolt of bravery, and crept between fronds of a fern near to the lake. He watched the goose like a predator prepared to strike. For moments that seemed to stretch into hours, he stared at the goose, claws drumming on his leg in thought as he tried to guess which way the bird might turn, or if, by luck, it might leave the lake entirely. 

When he was certain the goose had turned around for good, he scurried towards the water, breaking the soft hum of insects and chirping birds by diving into the lake with the biggest splash such a tiny creature would allow. 

The goose responded in turn, wings beating against the water and the unseen noise’s source as it let out a mighty honk and fled. 

Arum dragged himself from the lake, no longer enjoying that he was sopping wet. The Keep sang a sympathetic tune and parted its branches to allow the soaked hatchling a little more heat and sun to aid in his plight. 

After spending a lazy afternoon sunning on a rock, Arum dragged himself back to a nest that was beginning to get too small, curling his tail up next to his face and tucking all six of his limbs in to fit comfortably. 

His sleep was peaceful, save for jumping at the sound of a heron’s distant cry. The Keep whispered a melody that smelled of petrichor and ozone and eggshell as its little guardian settled back into his slumber. When the Keep was almost ready to sleep for itself, it felt a tiny hand tugging on one of its vines. The hatchling’s snout replaced the hand, snuggling against its leaves and fibers as the Keep’s song petered off into a dreamy silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Going to be transparent here: baby Arum was, at some points, loosely based on my dog. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Smash that kudos button, leave a comment below, and don't forget to stay awesome gamers!
> 
> My tumblr is @hopeless-eccentric if you want to slide into my inbox and yell about baby lizards with me


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